You step into the cafe midmorning, hair extra messy because you didn't bother to tame it.
You grin at the barista, ordering your usual. When you turn to look for a seat, Jasper's already there, front window, an untouched coffee waiting next to his own.
He rises, holding out your mug with a flourish. "Guessing you for hazelnut and extra sugar."
You take the mug, fingers brushing his as you settle in. "How'd you know?"
He shrugs, flashing a smile. "Artists know things. Also, I asked Hannah. Your friends protect your secrets pretty well."
You snort. "That depends. Ask Priya, she'll say I overshare."
Jasper leans forward, propping his chin on one hand. "You know, you look even more intense in the morning. The green suits you. People see you coming from a block away."
You feel your cheeks flush. "I could say the same about your hair. Silver streaks are a statement."
He grins, shaking his head. "Not on purpose. If I was brave, I'd bleach the whole thing and go neon. Maybe let you design it."
"I accept payment in gummy bears and acrylics," you tease.
He laughs, and you feel the warmth of his attention, the subtle magnetism that makes everyone in the cafe glance your way for a second. Jasper listens while you talk about last night's crawl, the mural sketches, your ideas for color blending. He never interrupts, just watches, nods, sometimes asks quiet questions that make you feel like you're revealing secrets only he could hear.
"What scares you in art?" Jasper asks, tracing the rim of his mug.
You think about it carefully. "Being boring. I want people to feel something when they look at what I do."
"You're never boring," he says, and it almost sounds reverent. "I noticed the way you talk about color. Like it's alive. You get art, Maren. You breathe it."
His words leave you giddy. You let him talk about his LA gallery work, the night he brought his first painting to a show and pretended not to care what people thought. He tells you stories about artists who chased their dreams and people who never made it, promises he'll introduce you to the right people if you want.
"Someday you'll exhibit in New York," Jasper says. "You have that spark. You ever dream about leaving?"
You shake your head, almost shy. "I'm not sure. Sometimes this place feels big enough."
He leans closer, lowering his voice. "If you ever want more, I'll help. I mean that."
A rush of excitement flickers in your chest. "I think I like figuring out what 'more' means for myself."
Jasper's smile grows, soft around the edges. "That's what makes you good."
You talk until your coffee cools completely. The back and forth is easy and surprising, almost intoxicating. He pulls out his sketchpad, flips through line drawings and color swatches, and gives you his opinions on everything you share. Every compliment feels perfectly timed, every idea spins into something bigger.
By the time you gather your things for class, you feel both grounded and lifted.
At the studio, the group is already gathering. Hannah is arguing for more purple in the mural; Priya, ever the engineer, sketches geometric arches. Jasper sets up next to you, pulling his stool close so your arms bump as you reach for the charcoal sticks.
"Team green," Hannah jokes, pointing to your hair. "Maren, can we make the center of the mural neon?"
You roll your eyes. "We're painting a campus wall, not a rave. But I'll think about it."
Priya snatches your sketchbook and thumbs through, pursing her lips. "Cellophane layers. We could do something with gloss and reflection."
Jasper flips to a page of yours with messy, vibrant brush strokes. "I vote we start here. Maren's playing it safe, but this is real. This feels like movement."
You bristle a little. "I'm not playing it safe. That was a test."
Jasper smiles, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "Tests are only boring if you forget to fail on purpose."
He turns to Priya and Hannah. "Can we let Maren lead the color? She's got instinct. If we let her push, the rest will come."
Priya nods, but gives him a look. Disbelieving, maybe, but quietly approving.
You catch a glimpse of Beckett outside, tossing a football with Marcus near the hedges. For a moment, you want to wave him in, but Jasper's attention is intoxicating. The four of you go back and forth over mural concepts, each sketch pushing the last in a new direction.
Jasper's hand lingers on your shoulder, not long enough to make you uncomfortable, but just enough that you notice and don't mind.
When Beckett does come by between classes, he enters with two water bottles.
He holds one out to you, smiling. "I think I missed the color explosion. You guys painting the whole campus or just the art building?"
You grin. "All depends on the budget."
Jasper offers Beckett a cordial nod. "Maybe we'll paint field lines on your turf next."
Beckett smirks. "Wouldn't complain. Might make the practices less boring."
Hannah interrupts, eager. "Can we paint the old stadium wall once the mural's done?"
Priya snaps her sketchpad shut. "If security lets us."
You laugh. Beckett hangs around for a few more moments, glancing between you and Jasper, but doesn't interrupt the creative flurry. He gives a squeeze on your shoulder before heading back out, smiling but a little out of orbit.
After class, Jasper keeps you back for just a few more minutes, asking about your favorite artists, your childhood art heroes, the places you go to hide when campus gets overwhelming.
He listens, eyes bright, eager for every word. By the end you're blushing, a little dizzy with attention.
"Come to gallery night with me next week," Jasper says suddenly. "Just you and me. I'll take you to a place nobody knows."
You start to answer, surprised and flattered.
He grins, offering his hand to help you gather your sketches. "Don't say yes yet. Just promise you'll think about it."
You laugh and nod, feeling like something new is cracking open in your chest.
When you head out to meet Hannah and Priya for lunch, Beckett texts:
Beckett: How's the mural chaos?
You: Going big. Jasper's got a billion ideas.
Beckett: Bet he does. Save some paint for me.
You smile, twisting the phone in your hands, feeling the rush of one world colliding gently with another.
You head into the cafeteria with Hannah and Priya, weaving through noisy clusters of students packing every table. Hannah is still buzzing with mural ideas; Priya updates you on her engineering club's plans for the art festival.
Jasper joins without hesitation, sliding his tray next to yours and snagging the open seat at your side. Priya gives you a loaded look, but you just shake your head and laugh at Jasper's commentary on cafeteria food art.
He nudges your arm. "Did you notice there's a whole wall they don't use? We could sneak in after hours and test colors. Midnight painting challenge?"
Hannah brightens. "That sounds amazing, and probably a lot of trouble."
Priya frowns playfully. "You're going to get us banned. What'll you do after we're famous campus outlaws?"
Jasper raises his cup in a mock toast. "To infamy, and to Maren's never-ending color surprises."
You feel yourself glowing under the attention. Jasper asks about your childhood. About all the strange things you painted on your bedroom walls, the first time you tried watercolor, how you picked green last night. He laughs at your stories, shares his own, always keeping the conversation spinning toward art and dreams.
Hannah leans in. "So, Maren, your hair is a mood. Jasper, you ever take the risk?"
Jasper grins. "If Maren dares me, maybe I'll match her."
Beckett's arrival shifts the energy. He stands behind you for a moment, waiting to sit. Jasper, without looking, spreads his sketchbook across the table, crowding the empty seat beside you.
"Room for me?" Beckett asks, friendly but tentative.
Priya shifts her things to make space. Beckett slides in next to Hannah, further from you than usual.
He smiles. "How's the mural coming? You all still friends, or has the paint started flying?"
Hannah's face lights up. "It's wild, Beckett. Jasper says we're making history."
Jasper nods, glancing at Beckett just briefly. "We're letting Maren choose the colors. I just make sure she doesn't get stage fright."
Priya snorts. "She's never had it, trust me."
Jasper laughs, then nudges Maren's water bottle closer, personal and easy, as if you've been partners for months.
Beckett watches the interaction quietly, playing with his food. He goes light on the jokes, only jumping in when Hannah asks about football practice or Priya asks about the next game. You notice him glancing your way a few times, but each time Jasper leans in with another story, Beckett looks away.
For a little while, you're swept up. Jasper makes everyone at the table feel sharper and brighter, but somehow, the spotlight lands mostly on you.
When lunch winds down, Jasper stands, stretching. "We should keep sketching. What are you doing after class, Maren?"
You hesitate, glancing at Beckett as you answer. "I have studio hours. Maybe I'll see you there?"
He grins, brushing his hand along your arm as he heads out. "Perfect. Text me."
After he leaves, Beckett sits in the sudden quiet. It feels strange, like the room lost some air.
He spears the last fry on his plate, voice softer than before. "He's… really into this project?"
You nod, still smiling. "Yeah. He's got some wild ideas."
Beckett's jaw works silently, the look in his eyes a mix of concern and longing. He doesn't say what he's thinking, but you almost wish he would.
Priya glances at both of you, and you know she notices the current running between everyone at the table.
After lunch, Hannah heads off to print flyers and Jasper disappears, promising to see you in studio later. You and Priya linger behind, plates stacked and phones tucked away, letting the cafeteria empty out a bit.
Priya nudges your elbow as you both walk toward the hall. "Okay, can we talk about something?"
You smile. "You mean besides Jasper's five mural schemes?"
She gives you a look, gentle, pointed. "Not Jasper. Beckett."
You pause, surprised. "What about him?"
Priya hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "He didn't say much at lunch. That's not like him."
You try to keep your tone light. "He's always quieter when the group gets bigger."
Priya shakes her head. "Not like that. He mostly watched you and Jasper. I think he wanted to sit next to you, you know? But Jasper filled that space."
You blink, not sure if you're flattered or troubled. "I guess he's just being Beckett. He's never liked big shifts."
Priya shrugs. "It's not just that. He looked… I dunno, out of place."
You bite your lip, remembering the way Beckett hung back, joked less, how he fussed with his food between moments Jasper swept the attention toward you. "I didn't notice."
Priya stops, fixing you with a warm, unblinking stare. "Maren, maybe you should. You're allowed to enjoy new things, and Jasper's obviously interested. But Beckett acts different around you lately, more careful. Not just protective. It's almost like he didn't know where he fit."
You balk, unsure how to respond. "We're fine. We always are."
Priya's smile is sympathetic. "Just pay attention. You have more impact on him than you realize."
For a moment you stand in the bright hallway, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The excitement of Jasper's attention buzzes beneath your skin, but Priya's words land softer, like a color you hadn't noticed in the palette before.
You loop your arm with hers, playful again. "Should I be worried for Beckett's heart?"
Priya laughs. "Maybe you should just check in. Sometimes friendship drifts and you don't even see it happening."
You nod, sighing as you both walk out of the cafeteria. Your heart torn on what exactly you're supposed to feel.
You spend your afternoon in the studio, trying to lose yourself in color blends and new sketches, and trying not to think about Priya's words, or how Beckett seemed further away today than he ever has.
When the sun sets, your phone buzzes with a new message.
Beckett: Hey. You up for a roof hang?
You smile, tugging on a hoodie, the old one he loaned you months ago that still smells faintly like laundry and grass.
You take the side exit and climb the narrow stairwell to the top of your dorm. Beckett's there, sitting on the low brick wall, kicking his heels idly in the cool air. He looks up when you open the door, offering a familiar, crooked smile. His whole body seems tense, like every muscle is being held in check.
"Hey, green bean," he calls softly.
"Hey yourself," you say, dropping next to him. The city glows beneath you. You tuck your knees up, arms wrapped loosely around them.
You sit in the hush for a moment, just you, Beckett, and the skyline beyond. But the quiet isn't as easy as it used to be.
You break it first. "You've been weird today."
Beckett flinches, ruffling his hair. "Weird how?"
You shrug, searching his face. "At lunch. You barely even joked with Hannah, and you didn't say much to me once Jasper sat down."
Beckett snorts, but it sounds forced. "It was a loud table."
You nudge him, eyes narrowed. "Don't do that. Just talk to me, Beck. You know you're my best friend."
He exhales slowly, looking up at the sky. "Honestly? I just… I don't know where I fit lately." His jaw tightens and he chews his lip, still not meeting your eyes. "You and Jasper… it's a lot. Sometimes it feels like I showed up to a party and nobody saved me a seat."
The hurt in his voice stings, raw and real. You reach for his hand, fingers curling gently around his.
"I'm sorry if you felt left out. I never want you to feel that way." Your voice is soft, honest, heavy with all the things you wish were simpler.
He squeezes your hand back, but you can feel the tension there, the way he won't look at you straight on. "It's not on you. Change just… sneaks up sometimes."
You both watch the city lights flicker in silence. Beckett's breathing is measured, but his knuckles are white against his knees.
"I just miss hanging out like we used to, I guess," he adds, the words catching. "Before."
"Before what?" you whisper.
He shakes his head, eyes glinting. "Before everything felt complicated. Before I had to try this hard just to keep up with you."
You want to argue. You want it all to go back, but you can hear the fatigue and the truth in his voice, a longing you don't have the words to answer.
You lean your shoulder against his, letting the warmth and history settle between you. "You're not losing me, Beckett."
He nods, still quiet, still wrestling with something inside.
The night grows colder, but neither of you moves.
Eventually, he laughs, a little bitter, a little hopeful. "Promise you'll save me a seat next time."
"Always," you whisper, leaning your head against his arm.
You stay side by side on the roof, neither saying what scares you most: sometimes, the things that matter most are the things you can't name just yet.